And to the winner goes the glory
by storiesbycandlelight
Summary: "Julian, breathe. It's just an Emmy." Juliark from CP Coulter's 'Dalton.' Rated T for cursing and mild sexual content.


AN: Another ficlet from the world of Dalton! This is inspired by a prompt one of my good friends at tumblr gave me, and I liked the idea and the challenge of the couple. I wrote it completely after my exams, but I'm actually rather happy with it- or at least...moments of it. There's still Jogan in here. I can never shake Jogan. But anyway, I do hope you enjoy it, and stay tuned, because I'll finally be getting around to uploading several other fics that have previously only been released via my tumblr (which is listed on my home...page...bio thing). I've been a little lazy with my , but hopefully those new fics will make up for it, if you haven't already seen them.

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters from Dalton, nor do I own the Glee franchise. Don't sue me or anything D:

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><p>"You look good."<p>

Julian raises both his eyebrows at the reflection of Clark in the mirror and continues to nitpick at his bowtie and suit without even turning around. In the mirror, his reflection could be the cover of a magazine in movement. He still wasn't perfect though. Turning his head, he pursed his lips and smoothed out his hair.

Damn. Always a hair out of place.

"No really, J. You will definitely not be disappointing any tween girls this evening," Clark stuffs his hands in his pocket. "You might if you're late though."

"Julian Larson is never late. The party doesn't start—"

"—until you walk in?"

"That sounds about right."

Clark laughs softly. "Well tick tock, Kesha, because Something Damaged is leaving with or without you."

Julian rolls his eyes. "Fine. Start the car, Saint Clark."

As Clark leaves the room, Julian lets his body relax, rolling his shoulders back and taking in a nervous breath. He's always been too dramatic, so it feels like this night is the night he has been working toward for seventeen years of his life—and his world is teetering on whether or not he will have an Emmy to his name.

Back at home, he knows that Logan and Derek are watching, yet their support a country away does little to calm him. For once, he wishes his lives could collide and they could appear by his side.

And Logan does look good in a tux.

"JULIAN," Clark shouts at him.

He feels nauseous, but he's Julian Larson. And the show must always go on.

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><p>The night speeds on by. Julian is out on the Red Carpet—he's indoors—he's sitting down—he's contemplating throwing up all over the back of Chace Crawford's head.<p>

"Will you calm down," Clark grabs Julian's bouncing knee to still it, lightly squeezing in a way that gives Julian goosebumps. "You would think you inhaled a carnival of cotton candy at the rate you're going."

His hand burns where it rests on his thigh. Julian groans. "I just want to get this over with."

"Wow, you must be excited," Patrick whispers sarcastically on the other side of him. "Julian, breathe. It's just an Emmy."

Julian raises an eyebrow. Just an Emmy his ass.

"_After the break we'll be announcing the nominees for Best Supporting Actor in a Drama…"_

"Shit."

"Breathe," Clark repeats the command. He smiles warmly. "And smile. The camera's on you."

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><p>"…Julian Larson!"<p>

The entire cast rockets from their chairs in an uproar of noise, and Julian is hauled up by Patrick, who is yelling words that used to resemble English or something, but Julian is too dazed to understand anything but his fucking _name._

Maybe that's why he turns around when Clark says it. "Julian!"

Clark grabs him by the shoulders. "You fucking won, man!"

Before Julian can wrap his head around the expletive uttered by the Saint, Clark's grip on his shoulder tightens and his friend pulls him in, and suddenly, he's part of a kiss fit for the movies.

Clark is kissing him.

Clark tastes like the pre-victory champagne they all sipped on the way over, and of sweat and excitement. And if Julian wasn't so shell-shocked, he would have had a difficult time not grabbing Clark's face and parting those lips, in search of something more than victory there.

But he is shell-shocked and only thinks of tonguing Clark Sawyer after Clark Sawyer pulls away from him.

The camera is on them. They both look pale and big-eyed. Everyone around them is screaming.

And shit, he's got to make a speech, doesn't he?

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><p>The next day, the tabloids are a play-by-play of THE KISS with rampant speculation on every page. Julian's phone rings non-stop (as does his head) and he hides in his room. Not because he can't face the paparazzi or because he's ashamed, but because he's afraid that Clark is.<p>

And he's afraid why he really, truly is not.

He only picks up the phone for one person.

"Derek, shit," are the first words out of his mouth.

A soft, lovely laugh answers him.

"_Logan_," Julian hisses and slaps himself across the face.

"Sorry, I left my phone in my dorm. But I wanted to congratulate you and ah…check up on you… are you okay?"

Julian doesn't exactly know how to respond to that. His definition of okay was in the process of changing dramatically, now more than ever, with Logan on the phone expressing sincere concern in his magical voice, which is all Julian needs to sporadically increase his heart rate.

At Julian's non-answer, Logan sighs. "Okay. If you need me, you know where I am."

Julian rubs his eyes and nods, forgetting that Logan isn't actually in the room with him. He remembers a second later and realizes he wants to tell Logan something really, really important.

"Lo, I—I'm bi."

He's already hung up.

* * *

><p>After two days, he leaves his room and walks down the street, his favorite sunglasses hiding his eyes. He makes it safely to the beach where he pushes his toes into the sand, lets the water wash over his feet and as it rolls and hisses, he thinks of Clark and how he's always smelled like the ocean. And like the waves, he's strong and steady and he always rolls right on back.<p>

The ocean is truly what he loves about California. It's probably the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

He ends up having to run away by a group of screaming girls, only to escape into a mob of paparazzi, where he mutters "No comment, no comment" at their questions concerning Clark Sawyer's lips and what they taste like.

Other wise, his walk clears his head.

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><p>Clark ends up calling him too.<p>

"We need to uh…talk."

"You're breaking up with me, aren't you?" Julian deadpans.

Clark laughs. "No. I mean—damn, you're a jerk."

"Cursing again. Do you kiss your mother with that mouth? Or just me?"

"Julian, I'm sorry."

"Uh-huh." Why is he disappointed by this?

"I was just—I don't know, caught up by the moment. Too excited, I guess. This is why I should never drink even a little alcohol."

"Oh yeah, I understand." Why does he care?

"It didn't mean anything. At least, like, not in…that way."

That way. Holding hands and skipping stones and old radio love songs. Right, why would Clark kiss him in that way? Well, why would anyone?

"Julian?"

"Yeah, uh, it's fine," Julian smiles painfully. "I don't even think twice about it. Honestly." Just three or four or five times, over and over and over again…

"Good. I'm glad. We're alright then, you and me? Because honestly Julian…"

_Honestly Clark…_

"…you're one of my closest friends…"

_When I'm around you, I can breathe…_

"…and I wouldn't want to lose you…"

…_and smile…_

"…or cause you any type of pain…"

…_and I'm actually happy…_

"…ever."

…_always. _

Julian tastes blood in his mouth from where he has been biting his lip. He clears his throat. "Clark, as far as I'm concerned, nothing happened."

And nothing ever will.

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><p>He dreams too much. Usually, his sleep is undisturbed. It's a period of his life that disappears from memory, when he can truly escape, body, mind and soul. He even loves the feeling of lethargy, with the world around him moving slower and more forgiving.<p>

But now he's dreaming all the time. He dreams about kisses and blonde boys and he's waking up sticky.

His tongue isn't always tasting the prefect of Stuart House anymore though. His hands grip tan skin and he groans into a strong shoulder that smells like ocean and palm trees. Blue eyes stare down into him, appraise him up and down as different hips grind down into his, pulverizing thoughts of Dalton, boys in blazers, heartache—

"Clark-!" Julian moans awake and melts into California sun, Ohio many, many miles away.

-fin-

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><p>OOC: Thanks so much for reading and I do hope you consider reviewing, especially since this is my first time ever writing Juliark. xD Or don't. Up to you. ;)<p> 


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